


Changeling

by heartofstanding



Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: (by a stranger not by a family member), (fairly) brief misgendering of a child by another child, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Chronic Illness, Daddy Issues, Gen, Hurt child, Identity Issues, Plantagenets' A+ Parenting, Terminal Illnesses, Whump, actually decent Plantagenent parenting, basically everyone's a mess, children in peril, the Black Prince was a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 05:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: Henry and Richard meet for the first time. It goes very, very badly.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 15





	Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> This a fairly old fic I started writing over a year ago and only recently finished. Since I wasn't particularly... careful with the ages or accuracy of this piece and because it is fairly old, the characterisations aren't necessarily how I see the characters now. But I think this has got some meaty stuff in it (Henry and Richard both break my heart). I... do and don't like this but I'm sick of looking at it in my editing pile so it's getting posted as-is.
> 
> I've rated it Mature because while it is a gen fic focused on children that isn't particularly violent or whatever, it does deal with some serious issues and themes and a child is harmed (though not by a parent or parental figure) and goes through some dark stuff.

Henry’s been excited ever since his father told him he was going to meet Uncle Edward, Aunt Joan and cousin Richard. _Uncle Edward _is the greatest hero in the country – Prince of Wales, Prince of Aquitaine, Duke of Cornwell and, of course, the great champion of Poitiers and Crécy. Everyone knows that even though he’s sick, he’s still very special. When they were leaving, Henry overheard some of the stable hands talking about Uncle Edward, saying he’s like the Fisher King, sick because England is sick and bleeding in hope of effecting a cure. Henry’s not sure England is bad off – at least, _his father _doesn’t seem to think so – but that’s how great Uncle Edward is. He’s already part of myth and legend.

And Richard – Henry hasn’t heard much _him _but if he’s Uncle Edward’s son, he must be wonderful as well. A proper warrior already – not like Henry. Only last week Henry was knocked flat while practising his foot joust so it’s a little terrifying to have to meet him. But maybe Richard will let Henry watch him fight, show him a few tricks and not laugh so hard if Henry falls over.

*

Which is why he’s a little disappointed when, just after their arrival, they’re met only by Aunt Joan and her ladies in her solar. She’s pretty, even prettier than Lady Katherine, with gold hair plaited and wrapped up in jewelled nets. But she seems tired and doesn’t smile much, leaning in to talk to Henry’s father in a quiet voice while Henry sips at his drink.

‘You will wait out in the garden with Lady Katherine,’ Lancaster says. ‘Richard will come out and you can play with him.’

Henry’s nose wrinkles. He wants to meet Uncle Edward, not wait outside. Lancaster scowls at him.

‘What is that face? You think you’re too good for a game? Your cousin’s company? Your cousin needs a friend, not some bull-headed boy who thinks himself above him.’

‘John,’ Aunt Joan says. Her face is pained but Lancaster ignores her.

‘No Father,’ Henry mutters, cheeks hot. ‘Sorry Father.’

‘Well,’ Lancaster says. ‘I expect you to behave yourself and treat your cousin well. Lady Katherine, take him out.’

*

The gardens aren’t too bad, really. They let in enough sun for it to be warm but there’s enough shade so it isn’t too hot. The garden beds are well-tended and pretty, if you care about that sort of thing, which Henry doesn’t. Henry wanders around for a bit, picking up a stick and slashing it about in the air like he would a sword. Then he imagines being caught playing at swords by Richard and drops it. After a while, he comes back and sits down with Katherine, wondering why it’s taking so long for Richard to be brought out.

‘There he is,’ Katherine says.

Henry stands up, eyeing the creature moving towards him. Whoever it is, they’re wearing a high-necked gown and their hair is pure, curling gold. They’re much too pretty to fight – or do anything at all, Henry thinks. They might even be prettier than Aunt Joan, though they look like her, with the same slanting blue-grey eyes.

‘That’s not the prince’s son,’ Henry says. It can’t be.

Katherine whips around and seizes his arm, squeezing tight enough to hurt. ‘Do not let anyone hear you say that again.’

‘But it’s not!’

‘Henry,’ she says, squeezing tight. ‘Don’t. I’m warning you.’

The creature stops, staring at them.

‘It’s not, it’s not, it’s not!’ It’s not even a boy!’ Henry’s yelling now and he knows his father is going to be angry when he hears about this. ‘You said I’d meet Richard, that’s not Richard! It’s too pretty! It’s a _girl!_’

Katherine bites her lip the way she does when she’s trying not to laugh and her grip on Henry’s arm loosens. Colour floods the girl’s pale cheeks and she bares her teeth.

‘Henry,’ Katherine starts.

Henry twists and pulls away from Katherine, shoving her. His father will have him flogged for sure now but Henry doesn’t care. He runs towards the girl, sees how her lovely features are tight with anger.

‘How – how _dare _you?’ the girl splutters, spittle flying from her mouth.

Henry puffs out his chest. ‘You’re not the prince’s son. You’re a _girl_.’

‘Am not.’

‘Are too!’

Katherine pulls Henry away. ‘Henry. Please. This is Richard and you will treat him with respect.’

Henry stares at the girl, the redness of her cheeks – no. It’s worse than that. This creature Katherine insists is Richard is too pretty to be a boy. But if it’s not a boy or a girl, it’s something worse. Henry’s mouth drops. Maybe this thing that says it’s Richard is really a changeling. A proper one, some creature made from magic. Maybe it’s making Uncle Edward sick and Henry’s the only one who can see it for what it really is.

Which means he has to save Uncle Edward and everyone will say how brave Henry is and then they can rescue the real Richard, if he hasn’t already escaped from whoever’s taken him.

Henry jerks free of Katherine again and charges at the creature, dragging it to the ground. It has got long limbs that are hard to pin down and it’s stronger than he thought it would be. Katherine’s yelling at him to stop and to _get off Richard _but Henry won’t. Not until he can show them. He snarls and scrambles, giving up on getting hold of the creature’s wrists and instead clenching his fist, ready to throw a punch. He’ll subdue the creature and then show them all and even Lancaster will say he was a good, brave boy.

‘Get, get!’ the creature shouts and drives its bony knee into Henry’s belly.

Henry grunts and his fist goes thudding into the grass by the creature’s head. It’s still wriggling, trying to shove Henry off him. He goes for another punch and this time it lands, the creature’s lip splitting open. It screams at him, a wild thing, and wrenches itself to the side, throwing a punch of its own. The pain is blinding, the creature’s knuckle hitting against Henry’s brow bone, and the creature scrambles out from under Henry, clothes torn and muddy.

‘Stop it, stop it, stop!’ Katherine shrieks.

Henry gets to his feet, breathing hard, and runs at the creature again. But it moves before he can barrel into it, twisting away and grabbing Henry’s arm, trying to pull him down. Henry digs in, doesn’t let it, and it tries to hit Henry again. The creature fights better this time, punching Henry with solid blows that land against Henry’s belly and knock the breath from him. But this won’t stop Henry. He’ll defeat the creature, reveal it to be a changeling that cursed Uncle Edward and everyone will love Henry.

Henry grabs the creature’s first, bends it back until the bones show stark against the pale wrist. The creature cries out in pain but Henry’s not letting go. He pushes the creature back, aiming to pin it against the large oak tree. The creature’s free arm beats at him until he bites it, forcing another cry from the creature’s throat. This isn’t a boy, it isn’t a girl. It’s not Uncle Edward’s son and Henry will show them.

‘Please, please, stop.’

The creature’s whimpering and it’s talking in an odd, stuttering way. Henry grins – maybe his plan’s working, the creature’s about to shrivel up and show itself to be some magical construct. Uncle Edward will be very grateful for this, he’ll hug Henry and promise him presents and maybe even take him into his own household and raise him with his own son.

‘Henry! Stop it! Right now—’

‘No!’ Henry yells. ‘I’ve got to show you, it’s a changeling! It’s making Uncle Edward sick!’

He raises his fist and the creature’s crying – snivelling, really. Tears and snot all over his face, red blood running down his chin. But changelings don’t bleed. Henry falters and then feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder and haul him away from the creature.

‘What,’ Lancaster’s cold, furious voice says, ‘is going on here?’

Henry turns to face his father. Joan is a little distance away, pale-faced and furious. Henry feels his insides swimming, looks back at the creature. At Richard. Then tries his best to appear innocent.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘It’s just – a game. He said he wanted to play.’

‘Mama!’ Richard yelps and goes running to Joan, flinging his arms around her waist and burying his face against her side.

‘A game,’ Lancaster says, ‘that ends with your eye blackened and your cousin bloodied and in tears?’

‘I didn’t want to.’ Richard is babbling into Joan’s hip, her long fingers combing through his hair. ‘I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Papa but you _made _me come out here and he _made _me play and I lost.’

That’s not what happened. Henry opens his mouth – he doesn’t want Richard lying to make things easier on him. Katherine is exchanging looks with Lancaster, serious ones that Henry knows mean trouble.

Joan shushes Richard. ‘It’s alright, sweet-thing. It’s alright. We’ll get you tidied up in no time.’ She raises her head to glare at Henry. ‘There’ll be no more trouble now, I promise.’

‘Don’t tell Papa, please,’ Richard says. ‘He’ll be upset.’

‘I won’t,’ Joan says and leads Richard away.

Henry feels vaguely ill. He twists his head up to face his father.

‘But he _makes _Uncle Edward sick!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lancaster snaps. ‘You are in disgrace, Henry. Richard has lied to protect you – and God knows why he would do that – but we all know that it wasn’t a _game. _You struck your cousin for some cruel reason of your own.’

‘No! I didn’t! He wasn’t – I didn’t think he was Richard,’ Henry says. ‘He’s too pretty.’

Lancaster rolls his eyes. ‘Spare me your lies, Henry., and be grateful Richard protected you. So when you meet him again, you _will _be gracious and kind. And you will apologise.’

‘I was only trying to—’

‘Help? No. I have had enough of your lies. You will go to the rooms set aside for you and you will stay there until I summon you out. I must go and speak to my brother and try to explain why his wife and I had to leave him so suddenly and why Richard will be sporting bruises the next time he sees him.’

‘Father—’

‘No, Henry,’ Lancaster says. ‘I don’t want another word from you.’

Lancaster turns away and leaves Henry alone with Katherine. She lays her hand on his shoulder and gives him a small smile. It doesn’t help.

*

The next time Henry sees Richard, he’s seated on his father’s knee. Not Uncle Edward’s, who Henry still hasn’t met yet, but on Lancaster’s – _Henry’s father_ – knee. Henry can’t even remember the last time he sat on his father’s knee like that, doubts he ever did. It doesn’t matter that Richard doesn’t look entirely comfortable – in fact, he looks pretty miserable, even though he’s clearly had a bath and is wearing clean clothes. What matters is that he’s _stolen_ Lancaster from Henry as well.

‘Henry,’ Lancaster says, voice cold. ‘I believe you have something to say to Richard.’

Henry heaves a sigh. He supposes he has to. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters. He is too but not because he hurt Richard. Because Lancaster’s angry at him and Katherine is _disappointed _and even though no one’s said he’s going to be punished, he probably will be.

‘Richard?’ Lancaster says.

Richard tosses his head, his expression shifting from miserable to haughty. ‘I forgive you.’ He turns to Lancaster. ‘Can I go please?’

Lancaster sighs, slumping back in his chair in defeat, but he nods. ‘Alright. But remember what I said.’

‘I – yes,’ Richard says, hopping down from Lancaster’s knee. He skirts around Henry, clearly skittish, and then all but flees from the room. Lancaster gives Henry a dirty look and stands up.

‘I expect better from you, Henry,’ he says, and he’s still angry but also disappointed. Henry doesn’t know what’s worse.

*

Henry still hasn’t met Uncle Edward by nightfall and he hasn’t seen Richard since that meeting in the solar. But after supper, there’s a recital the poems that someone wrote about Henry’s mother so Henry has to go and pretend to like them, even though he doesn’t remember his mother at all.

He’s got his best _thoughtful _face on when someone sits down next to him. He turns his head and winces, seeing Richard sitting there. He’s got a better _thoughtful _face than Henry has. It’s actually terrifying, it’s sort of disdainful and haughty while also clearly _moved _and _contemplative. _Henry wonders how he learnt to do that and whether he can ask about it. Mostly, though, he wonders why Richard is sitting next to _him_.

‘What did you mean?’ Richard’s mouth barely moves.

‘What did I mean when?’ Henry mutters back. He checks to see his father isn’t watching them. Lancaster isn’t, but Joan is, her eyes narrowed.

‘You said I make my father sick.’

‘Oh.’ Henry frowns. ‘No, I didn’t.’

Richard turns his eyes on Henry and the grey of them is like ice. ‘You did. I heard you. Said – said I wasn’t his son either.’

‘Well, yes, alright,’ Henry mutters. ‘But I didn’t mean _you._’ He sighs, figuring he’ll have to explain himself. ‘I thought you – weren’t you. Thought you were a changeling.’

Richard’s nostrils flare, his cheeks paling. ‘I’m not – not some butcher’s boy that someone—’

‘No, a _changeling. _Like you’re made of clay or wax and given life through witchcraft.’

‘Oh.’ Richard turns away, rubbing his hand over the bruise Henry left on his jaw. His lip is swollen and scabbed.

‘But you’re not,’ Henry says.

‘How do you know?’

‘Your blood’s red,’ Henry says.

Richard’s brows raise. ‘So you were just trying to _help _my, my father?’

‘Of course!’ Henry says. ‘I want to meet him. More than anything.’

Richard nods and narrows his eyes at the reciter. He doesn’t say anything more – Henry thought that _maybe _he’d invite him to meet Uncle Edward.

‘Do you always talk like that?’ Henry asks, wincing when Richard turns his gaze back on him with a stormy expression. ‘All halting and strange? I mean – it’s not bad but it must be annoying.’

Richard scowls. ‘Papa doesn’t mind. And, and Burley’s helping me with it.’

Henry nods. He pauses again to let Richard invite him to meet Uncle Edward, but he doesn’t.

‘How do you stop a changeling?’ Richard asks, quietly.

‘Fire and iron,’ Henry says. ‘I think. You’d need to ask a cunning woman – they know all the secrets. But you’re not a changeling.’

Richard shrugs. He turns his attention back to the recital. ‘Everyone treats me like – like a doll. Except you and Papa. Sometimes I don’t feel real.’

Henry opens his mouth, then shuts it. He doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to that. He reaches over and pinches the back of Richard’s hand. Richard hisses in pain and gives him a baleful stare.

‘If it hurts,’ Henry says. ‘It’s real.’

*

The back of Richard’s hand stings from Henry’s pinch. _If it hurts, it’s real. _He keeps his eyes on the poet and tries to remain blank. He feels his mother’s eyes on him, imagines her pressing her lips thin like she does when she wants to say something but doesn’t want to speak the words. She does that a lot around him. He’s not good and strong like his father or his half-brothers. He knows she loves him but she cares about those things in a way that his father doesn’t.

He wonders what he’s doing that’s earned her disapproval this time. She never says. It’s not her style – say nothing unless it’s an offering of forgiveness. It can’t be that he’s sitting next to Henry. Uncle John said he had to forgive Henry, so he has, and that they have to be friends, so he’s trying. Anyway, it’s not like Henry did anything wrong this afternoon. He just wanted to help.

Maybe the poet will come upstairs and recite his poems for Edward. Maybe Richard should go upstairs and wait with his father then. It’s better than sitting here, trying not to crawl out of his own skin. But maybe it’s a terrible idea. If Henry’s right, if he is a changeling and the reason why his father’s sick, he shouldn’t go and see Edward. He should stay away.

A hand touches his shoulder gently. He turns and sees Burley, his tutor.

‘Your mother wants you, my lord,’ he says quietly. His eyes flicker once to Henry, then away, his lips going flat.

Richard nods and stands up, brushing away the invisible creases in his gown, and goes to his mother.

*

Joan wraps an arm around his waist, pressing her lips against the side of his forehead. He leans against her.

‘Sweet thing,’ she says, ‘I’m not angry, but what were you doing sitting with that boy?’

‘I – I – I—’

‘Slowly now,’ Joan says, squeezing his waist. ‘Focus on each word.’

Richard scowls. ‘_I. _Wanted. To ask him. Something.’

‘Very good,’ Joan says, pressing a cherry to his lips. He pulls his head away and her hand drops. She sighs and kisses him again, tugging him onto her knee. ‘What did you want to ask him?’

He doesn’t think she’d like it terribly much if he said, _to see what he meant when he said I wasn’t Papa’s son. _‘About living. In England.’ He licks his lips. ‘And Uncle John said – said we had to be friends.’

Joan frowns, her arm tightening around his waist. ‘You don’t have to be his friend, darling. Not if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to forgive him.’

Richard frowns. That’s not what she normally says. ‘I already said I did.’ He can’t go back on his word now.

‘Oh, you are a sweet boy,’ she says. ‘But, darling, he hurt you.’

Richard nods. His jaw still aches and if he works his tongue over the split in his lip too much, the scab gives way and starts to bleed again. ‘I know, Mama.’

He should defend his cousin, point out he was only trying to help. But he doesn’t think it’ll do much good. She’ll get upset and make him explain himself and then say it still doesn’t excuse anything and what does he think he’s doing, making excuses and letting himself be hurt.

_If it hurts, it’s real. _

‘Why did you make me meet him?’ he asks. ‘I wanted to stay with Papa.’

‘Oh, sweet boy,’ she says, sighing. ‘It’s not good for you, being cooped up with a sick man. It’s not – you need friends, companions your own age.’

‘Why?’

She sighs again and kisses his cheek, his brow. ‘Because you will not have us your entire life. You will have to do without us and then you will need – friends, people you can trust – to look out for you.’

*

When he’s finally able to leave, it’s too late to go see Edward, who sleeps more than anyone else Richard knows. He goes up to his room and sits by the fire. He doesn’t _feel _like the fire is bad. He knows it’d burn him and if he put his hand in it, his skin would blister and hurt. In the same way, he knows he can touch iron. Neither have sent him fleeing. But maybe Henry was wrong about that. Maybe fire and iron don’t hurt changelings. Sometimes, Richard doesn’t feel real. Sometimes, when he is alone, he cannot bear it, it is as though he will cease to exist.

Burley knocks on the door and is there, looking down on him fondly. ‘Are you cold, my lord?’

Richard shakes his head. ‘Do you know a cunning woman?’

‘A cunning woman?’ Burley arches a brow and sinks down into a crouch in front of Richard. ‘No. Why do you want one?’

Richard feels his shoulders hunching and forces them back. ‘She might help Papa?’

‘Your father has got the best doctors, surgeons and bishops in the kingdom looking after him. A woman’s herbs wouldn’t do much.’

Richard nods. ‘But what if she could? What if there was something they’d all missed but she could see?’

‘Well, then, she’d be very special, then.’ Burley sighs. ‘I will make inquiries, my lord, but your mother will have the final say as to whether this woman can see your father, so do not get your hopes up.’

‘Of course not.’ He doesn’t think the cunning woman _has _to see his father. If Henry’s right after all, if Richard is a changeling that’s making his father sick, _he’s _the one she has to see.

*

Richard drags the chair closer to his father’s bed. He’s not allowed to climb in the bed with Edward now, not like he used to. He remembers when Edward would still get up and move around. It’s early morning but Richard has to see Edward now, before he goes away. Edward’s breath sounds harsh, heavy, like it’s a monumental effort just for him to breathe. He always sounds like that. His eyes move beneath closed lids in the dim light and Richard leans closer.

‘It’s me, Papa,’ he says.

He smiles when his father’s eyes flicker open, the grey of them still keen even as Edward’s mouth opens and closes, soundless. Richard leans forward, touching his father’s cheek, feeling the bristle of his beard against his palm.

‘It’s alright. I just wanted – wanted to see you. You can go back to sleep.’

Cold fingers brush the back of his hand, Edward’s hand curves around his wrist and squeezes it weakly.

‘Love you,’ Edward murmurs, the words barely audible. But he always says that whenever Richard comes.

‘I know. I love you too.’

Richard pulls away to pour a cup of wine, then supports his father’s head as he sips at it. He sets the cup down and wipes away the purple wine that’s run out of Edward’s mouth and down his beard.

‘How did you like Henry?’ Edward asks, each word a clear effort him.

Richard makes himself smile. ‘He’s nice. He’s – very, very kind.’

Edward settles back in his bed, his lips curving. ‘Good. Good.’ His eyelids droop again, but he reaches out and Richard lays his hand in his.

‘Papa,’ Richard says quietly. ‘I love you.’ He feels tears stinging his eyes and looks away, lest his father see them. ‘I want to try and make you better. So – so I have to go away. Just to see if it helps.’

His father’s hand tightens around his, his throat clicking. Even so, it’s stupidly easy to slip away from Edward, carefully setting his hand back on the bed. Edward can probably see him crying now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late to hide it.

‘I don’t know if I’ll see you again,’ Richard says, backing away. ‘If not, it’s probably for the best.’

Edward’s expression turns frantic. He tries to heave himself out of bed, but he’s not strong enough. His breath grows harsher and harsher.

Richard fumbles with the door latch, opens it up. He bows his head and leaves. Before he shuts it, he hears his father’s voice, raised in one last desperate effort, calling his name.

*

He shivers in the dawn, hugging his borrowed cloak tighter around himself as the cunning woman peers at him through the crack in her door. He doesn’t know how Burley found her, so far out of town, her house more of a pile of rubble than a shelter. Her frizzy grey sticks out from under her crooked wimple, her eyes like black embers.

‘What are you call, called, my lady?’ he asks.

‘My lady?’ she snorts. ‘Called? Sarah, I suppose. You got fine manners, you do. Whatever your manner of dress says.’

His borrowed – stolen – clothes itch against his skin. ‘I can pay.’

Sarah pushes the door open and lets him in. ‘You’re a bit young to seeking me out for anything but a lark, though. Unless you be wanting a cure for that stammer, then?’

The house doesn’t look much better inside. There’s a goat in one corner, staring balefully at him, and a pile of rags and straws that must serve as a bed. It smells of herbs, smoke and excrement. There’s an enormous fire burning that makes him break into a sweat. She gestures for him to sit on a stool and goes through bundles of green, grassy-looking things.

‘Tie a string around your tongue and swallow a lizard’s tail,’ she says. ‘Or suck on a pebble.’

He blinks, then shudders. He’s got no intention of swallowing a lizard’s tail or putting a dirty pebble in his mouth and Burley makes him practice speaking properly which seems a lot better than Sarah’s ideas. ‘No.’

‘No? What do you want then?’

‘My father – my father’s sick,’ he says. ‘Very sick.’

‘I see. Well, I’d need to see him before I – you’re shaking your head, boy.’

Richard looks around the room. It’s so hot, it makes his head spin. ‘_I _make him sick.’

She blinks, stunned. ‘How do you do that?’

Richard’s cheeks flare with heat. ‘Changeling. My cousin said so.’

Sarah purses her lips, studying him. Her eyes are shrewd, raking over his body. She turns away and busies herself, plucking leaves off the herbs hanging from the roof, throwing them onto the table and chopping them up, before brushing them into a cup and pouring water from the kettle over them. She gives him the cup.

‘Drink.’

‘What?’

‘Drink it.’

The cup is scolding hot. Still, if it’s to save his father’s life, he’ll do anything. He lifts it to his mouth and downs it. It burns. His mouth, his tongue, down his throat to his belly. And the taste – horrid and bitter. It makes him cough and gag, eyes watering.

‘Boots off,’ she says.

He pries his borrowed boots off with shaking hands. She picks up his foot and runs a fingernail down it. He shivers and tries to pull away, but she holds tight to him. She picks up a knife and runs the flat of the blade down his foot. It’s cold and he doesn’t like having a blade so near his skin but it doesn’t hurt. She drops the knife to the ground and plucks up a handful of weeds, swinging them against his foot. This does hurt, a deep sting that makes him yelp and recoil.

‘Nettles,’ she says. She drops them. ‘They should hurt.’

She stands up and goes to the fire, using the tongs to pluck an ember from its midst. It glows, red-hot. She holds it in front of his face.

‘What you think?’

‘I think it’s going to hurt.’

‘You don’t want to run?’

He shakes his head.

‘Show me your arm.’

He pushes back his sleeve, baring the white stretch of his forearm. She presses the ember against it and he screams. She grabs his arm and thrusts it into a bucket of – thankfully cool – water and throws the ember back into the fire.

‘Don’t move.’

She sits down the stool opposite him, chewing on her tongue. Her eyes study him for a long moment.

‘I don’t know. You’re a strange one, you are. You pass the tests – you’re not burnt by iron and fire acts as it should around you. You feel pain. You shit and piss, right?’

He nods, cheeks flaming red.

‘But you’re – strange. Your speech is fancy, but you’re dressed in the clothes of a worker. Your feet and hands are too pale, too smooth. Maybe you’re something new.’

Richard looks around the room, squinting in the bad light. He doesn’t know what to do, whether he should go back home. His arm and foot throb.

‘What about my father?’

Sarah purses her lips. ‘Stay away from him. Few days. He might improve, that’ll give it away.’

‘If he doesn’t?’

‘Then it’s not you, or you’ve not gone away far enough.’

She stands up and makes another posset, leaving it to cool as she dresses the burn on his arm, then pulls his sleeve down. He pushes his feet back in their boots.

‘Can I stay with you?’

‘_No,_’ she snaps. She picks up the posset and downs it herself. ‘No. I don’t want you near me.’

*

He leaves her house, staggering. He can’t go back. Not yet, at least. Not if he’s going to save his father. He’d hope she’d be able to tell him whether he was or he wasn’t, and if he was, fix him. Make him go away. The day’s warm and there’s not much shelter out here, he finds himself sweating, tears dripping from his eyes. He needs – he needs to stay away from everyone, in case he’s dangerous. She didn’t want him near her for a reason. He had scared her, even though he’d passed all her tests.

He stumbles over to a hedge, pushes himself under it. He’ll rest for a bit, keep going. Head for the woods. No one will find him there.

*

The sun’s hot and the air sharp this morning. Henry notices it as soon as he leaves chapel, after the morning service. Lancaster still seems unhappy with him, but he hasn’t said a harsh word since last night, so that’s good. Henry hides his mouth as he yawns, wondering if they’ll make him play with Richard today as well. He doesn’t _not _like Richard, but he doesn’t like him either. They barely know each other and their one conversation had ended abruptly when Joan had Richard brought to her.

Richard wasn’t at mass, he remembers. At least, not that he could see. Maybe he was lucky, left to sleep in. But Joan had been, clutching her psalter and looking around the chapel every so often. It was very distracting.

She’s talking to Lancaster now, staring up at him and looking like she might cry. They turn and look at Henry, Lancaster’s face going dark and angry all at once, and then they head over. What’s Henry supposed to have done now?

‘Have you seen Richard this morning?’ Lancaster says.

Henry shakes his head. ‘I only saw him last night.’

Joan’s face twitches. ‘What were you talking about? He said he’d asked you what England was like to live in.’

Henry frowns. Another lie. But it’s one that protects Henry, he realises. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, and Joan’s eyes narrow. But before anyone can speak, there’s a sober-looking doctor’s apprentice.

‘Your grace,’ he says, bowing to Joan. ‘The Prince is asking after his son.’ He hesitates. ‘At least – at least we think so. He’s – he’s very upset, but not making a lot of sense.’ He looks around, frowning. ‘Where is Lord Richard?’

‘I’ll go to my husband.’ Joan looks at Lancaster. ‘Find him.’

*

The sum of it is – Richard has gone missing. Henry doesn’t see or hear much of the search, but he knows people are being questioned. Apparently, he went to see Uncle Edward really early in the morning and whatever he said made Uncle Edward really upset, but that’s it, that’s the last people saw of him. Henry sits in the nursery with Katherine and wonders if he should tell them what they talked about. He doesn’t think it’s important – he told Richard he _wasn’t _a changeling, so it’s not like Richard would’ve taken off because of that.

‘Should we go looking for him, do you think?’ Henry asks.

Katherine is staring out the window, her lips thin. She’s probably thinking of her own children, how she’d feel if one of them just disappeared. It’s worse for Uncle Edward, because Richard is his only legitimate son. If Richard never comes back, he’ll have no heir.

Maybe he’d foster Henry then.

‘Where would we start?’ Katherine says. ‘Do you know anything, Henry? What he was thinking?’

Henry looks down at his hands, flexes them.

‘Henry.’

‘I don’t – he asked me why I did what I did yesterday. So I told him – thought he was a changeling, that he was making Uncle Edward sick. I also told him he wasn’t one. He asked how you stop one and I told him – fire and iron, but a cunning woman knows more.’

‘_Henry,_’ she says, voice like ice.

‘I told him he _wasn’t one!_ It’s not my fault!’

‘We need to tell your father.’

‘He’s already really angry at me—’

Katherine stands up and pulls him up by his arm. ‘Henry. Now.’

*

John is going to have _words _with Henry when he gets back. It’s moving into the afternoon and he still hasn’t found Richard yet. If he can’t find Richard – he doesn’t want to think about it. In his dreams, maybe, Edward might rise from his sickbed to wreak bloody revenge, but John knows it would destroy what’s left of Edward. Will shatter whatever keeps him breathing. And Joan – Joan will be waiting for news, maybe with Edward, maybe not, worried and frantic. This is all because of what Henry did, what Henry _said. _Richard thinks he’s a changeling, thinks he’s making Edward sick – and so he’s taken himself off somewhere to—

_Die, _hisses the voice in the back of John’s head, the one he’s trying not to listen to.

The woods cast long shadows everywhere, the air cold and growing colder all the while. He swallows, ducking his head under a branch and slows his horse down. It’s so dark he really needs to pay attention in case he misses Richard amongst the tree trunks. Eventually, it becomes more fruitful to dismount and continue on foot.

‘There!’ Kent yells and points.

John spins around, seeing the pale form of Richard, curled against the base of a large tree. The boy’s head jerks up at Kent’s yell, and then he is on his feet and running. For all his speed, he’s limping. Kent starts after him. John sees Richard’s white face glancing over his shoulder, twisted up in desperation and fear.

They have to catch him. John can’t return without him. Can’t face Joan or Edward or both and tell them they saw him but he fled. At least Richard is slowing, stumbling over the uneven ground. He keeps looking back at them, the expression on his face like fear. He’s frightened. They’re frightening him.

Richard is glancing over his shoulder when he trips over a raised tree root and goes sprawling on the ground. They have him – but no. Richard scrambles up, fleeing once again. Kent is getting close, all he has to do is reach out and—

Richard spins around. The ground slopes dangerously away behind, a steep fall. John freezes – one wrong move and the boy will go toppling over.

‘Go away!’

Kent tries to lunge forward. Richard takes a step back. John skids forward, grabbing Kent’s shoulder.

‘Stop, stop.’

Kent turns and stares at him in disbelief. ‘What?’

‘You want to risk it?’ John snaps, nodding towards Richard. He knows Kent is thinking of his mother, wanting to be the hero. _Look, I rescued him, love me best. _Of returning to her with failure, watching her descend into worry. But he won’t be returning victorious if Richard falls down that slope.

Richard’s face is white and pained and he’s shaking all over. ‘Leave me alone!’

Kent’s body tenses beneath John’s hand, all of him coiling up for another lunge. It would only take a moment for Richard to fall. John shoves him back.

‘Enough.’ He turns to Richard, tries to make his voice level. ‘It’s alright, Richard. It’s alright. We need to talk, though. Is that alright?’

‘Go away.’

‘I’ll get rid of them. It’ll just be you and me, and we can talk.’

Richard looks suspicious.

‘There’s not – nothing to talk about.’

‘It’s just a talk. At the end, if you still want to go, you can.’

John, of course, has no intention of letting Richard get away, even as Kent starts protesting. But Richard bites his lip and nods. John turns to his men and tells them to retreat, and, in an undertone, tells Kent to circle around and wait in case Richard tries to flee again.

When at last they’re alone, Richard hesitates, still wary. John swallows. He hopes he doesn’t have to tell Joan that her son went toppling down and broke both legs right in front of him.

‘The cunning woman you spoke to – she didn’t know who you were,’ John says. ‘She took your clothes as proof of who you are. She thought you were a farm boy.’

Richard shakes his head slowly. ‘No. She said—'

‘That you spoke too well, that your hands and feet were too pale and smooth. Of course she said that. She thought you belonged on a farm, that your hands should be roughened from working in a field.’

Richard says nothing.

‘She’s not a very good cunning woman,’ John says. ‘Can you – can you _please _come away from the edge? Just a few steps.’

Richard jerks his head in a nod and moves forward.

‘Thank you.’ John takes a step forward and sits down on the ground, the moss cool beneath him. ‘Is this alright? You can sit down too, if you want.’

Richard slides down the trunk of a tree, landing on his bottom.

John sighs. He’s had small victories but he’s not got Richard back home yet. He tries to gather his thoughts, wonders what will get through to an obviously unhappy young boy. _Changeling. _Why did Henry have to pick that word? John remembers his own youthful outrage when he heard someone calling him that – but thankfully, he was old enough to know it was a lie. Maybe Richard would benefit from hearing that.

‘Henry wasn’t very nice to you yesterday,’ John says. ‘I told you to forgive him and be his friend, but it was unfair to expect those things from you after his – cruelty.’

Richard shrugs. ‘He just wanted to help.’

John purses his lips. Maybe, but it doesn’t undo the damage done. ‘People used to say – and some still do, of course – that I was a changeling. That my mother accidentally smothered the child she had delivered so she stole a butcher’s son to raise to avoid my father’s anger.’

Richard blinks at him.

‘My mother would have never tried to deceive anyone like that, nor would she fear my father’s anger – he indulged her, in everything. I never believed it. At least, I didn’t believe for long. It is, of course, absurd. But the fear, that treasonous voice saying, _what if everything I know is a lie – _as much as I scorn it, I still remember that fear.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Not precisely, no. But I think you are letting fear drive you now, and that is something you must not do.’

Richard shakes his head. ‘I make Papa sick,’ he says, voice heavy and sullen. ‘It makes sense to, to go.’

John sighs and rubs his face. ‘You don’t.’ Short, sharp and brutal. Richard looks up at him, startled. ‘Edward only became sick well after you were born. I know that. And you are, according to your own mother, one of the last things left in his life that gives him joy. I daresay you are one reason he fights to live still.’

Richard’s cheeks flush. He raises his knees to his chest and hugs them. ‘What if you’re wrong?’

‘Well, I know your father is frantic right now because you have disappeared. And I have grave fears that if I bring back news of your loss, he will not survive long. That he will pine away from grief and heartbreak.’

Richard’s expression becomes one of alarm. ‘No. No. He can’t. He’s meant to get better.’

‘He won’t. Not without you.’

Richard shakes his head and, horrifically, looks moments away from crying.

‘Let’s go back,’ John says. ‘If you don’t believe me, the doctors and surgeons can examine you, see if there is anything… strange about you. Something that might make your father sick. I don’t think there is. But if you’re worried about it, set your mind at ease and _know._’

‘What if they’re wrong?’

‘They won’t be,’ John says. He will speak to them before they examine Richard, make it clear what they will find. ‘These men are highly educated and they’re never wrong. What do you think? Will we go back and see?’

Richard looks down at his lap for a long moment, then gives a small nod. John bites back his sigh of relief, and stands up. Richard takes his hand and pulls himself, not letting go of John’s hand. 

John lets out a whistle, recalling their company. It takes mere moments for Kent to come crashing through the undergrowth, out of breath and sweating. He looks at John, then at Richard and lunges forward. Richard shies away, scrubbing at an eye, but at the last moment, runs to meet Kent and throws himself into Kent’s arms. He rests his chin on Kent’s shoulder, his expression still miserable.

*

Joan watches Edward sleep. It is not a natural sleep, one entered into by choice, but one forced on him by doctors, saying he was too agitated as they poured the potion down his throat in spite of his protests. They were right, she supposes, but it doesn’t make things easier. In the old days, Edward would be out scouring the countryside for Richard. In the old days, Richard would not have been able to run away from Edward. In the old days, Richard would not have wanted to run away at all.

Joan sighs and rubs at her face. She had felt, last night, that something wasn’t quite right with Richard, but had assumed that it was the aftermath of Henry’s attack, that it would pass with the night and he would go back to his usual cheerful self. Instead, he had disappeared, driven off by evil thoughts. She is so tired, torn between her duties as wife and mother.

There’s a quiet knock on the door. A servant admits her son, Thomas. She stands up and goes to him, reaching for him. He puts his arms around her, smelling of dust and horse.

‘We found him. He’s back home.’

Relief shudders through her. But she looks for Richard and cannot see him. ‘Why didn’t you bring him here? Is he—’

Anything could have happened.

‘He’s with doctors – don’t, Mother. He’s mostly fine. Lancaster just insisted that he had to see the doctors first. Anyway, he was pretty filthy, you’d want him bathed. But he’s fine, Mother.’

‘Doctors?’

Thomas shifts. ‘Lancaster said so. He made us leave him alone with Richard and that was what came out of it – Richard would come home, but he had to see the doctors. If you go down, I’m sure they’ll let you see Richard, no matter what Lancaster says.’

*

Joan rushes downstairs, stopping only when Lancaster catches her about the shoulders. He is tired and travel-stained, but his expression is remote and unforgiving.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Leave it be.’

‘I will see my son.’

‘He’s with the doctors. Let them see to him.’

‘He’s fine – Thomas said—’

Lancaster sighs. ‘I only convinced him to return on the condition that the doctors would see him. To violate that would be to violate his trust and that is especially vulnerable right now.’

‘What – will you just tell me what happened?’ Joan says. She feels horror opening a chasm in her chest. Thomas said Richard was fine, but what if he wasn’t? What if there’s something terribly wrong with Richard?

‘He believes – _believed, _I hope – that he is a changeling and that he is the reason why Edward is sick.’

‘Oh,’ Joan breathes. _Oh. _Her hands clench into fists. Her legs walk around, force her to pace even though she is so tired, so weary. What has driven her son to this? To this horrifying belief? He would not have believed Henry if there wasn’t some part of him that was unhappy.

‘So he ran away,’ Lancaster says. ‘Thinking it would save his father. I managed to put up an argument that was believable enough that he’d submit himself to an examination.’

She nods. The doctors will sort this. They will look at him and say, _you are just a normal boy. _But then. What if they don’t? What if some foolish man says, _this isn’t right_ and makes Richard think he’s not right, that he’s a changeling? She turns back to Lancaster, face pale.

‘I’ve already made it clear that this is a childish impulse that they need to correct,’ Lancaster says. ‘And if any of them dissents, they will find life very uncomfortable. On the other hand…’

‘If they agree,’ she says. ‘They will find life very rewarding.’

‘Precisely.’

She shakes her head, feels her whole body tremble. ‘How much longer? I need to see him.’

‘Not too much,’ Lancaster says. ‘They need to make it convincing and he was hurt.’

‘Thomas said—’

‘Not too badly,’ Lancaster says. ‘But he still needs care.’

*

When they finally let her in, Richard is sitting on the bed, bare feet swinging idly over its edge. Her eyes drink him in and then she crosses the floor to hold him tight, pressing kisses to his golden head and his sweet, tired face. His arms wrap around her waist and he shudders, close to tears. She kisses him and then soothes his hair back, lifting his chin so she can see his face clearly.

‘Where were you hurt, dearest?’

He shrugs free of her embrace to show her the bandage on his arm. Only a small strip of cloth, but it smells of honey and sage. A burn, most likely. How did he get burnt?

‘And – and I hurt my ankle,’ he mumbles. He stiffens, looking up at her with clear eyes. ‘Did Papa get any better?’

Joan takes a breath and sits down beside him on the bed, reaching out to hold him close. The doctors have not soothed his worries as Lancaster thought they would and now it is up to her – and to tell Richard the truth, even if it convinces him that he is not a changeling, might still break his heart.

‘He didn’t,’ she says.

‘Maybe I didn’t go far enough.’

‘No,’ Joan says. She squeezes his shoulders tight. ‘No, darling. He got worse when you were gone.’

‘Worse?’ Richard cries.

Joan swallows and nods, kissing Richard’s hair again. ‘Yes, darling. I’m sorry. He was so worried about you. He’s alright now, they’ve given him something to help him sleep.’ She smiles at him and pulls him onto her lap. ‘I know you want your papa to get better. I do too. It is – really hard to accept that there’s nothing we can do.’

Richard nods against her, shuddering again.

‘But the problem isn’t you,’ she says. ‘Your papa loves you so much – he’s always better when you’re with him. Brighter, happier. Don’t you remember all the times he’d go out and watch you practice sparring?’

‘I suppose,’ Richard says.

‘I know it’s scary and frightening,’ Joan says. ‘And you need to understand that we’ve got the best doctors in the kingdom looking after your papa. If there’s a way to make him better—’ _to save him _‘—they will find it and we will do whatever it takes.’

Richard nods again, giving a little sigh and resting his head against her breast. She holds him tighter, rubbing her hand along his back. Soon, she’ll take him up to see Edward and let him lie down with his father so when Edward wakes up, he’ll have Richard sleeping right beside him.

But still, perhaps this wasn’t driven by Henry’s cruel words or Richard’s fears for his father. Perhaps there was something inside Richard that was unhappy and sad, that could believe the childish, outlandish concept of his being a _changeling. _

‘Dearest,’ she says. ‘If you are ever… unhappy, I would have you tell me.’

Richard looks up at her.

‘Your father and I love you very much,’ she says. ‘And we always will so you should not be frightened of telling us anything.’

‘Alright,’ Richard says but he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t offer up his secrets.

*

Richard obviously can’t believe his luck when Joan tells him he can get on the bed and sleep next to Edward. He’s wide-eyed and scrambles up on the bed before she’s even finished speaking. The doctors wouldn’t approve, of course, but when Edward wakes up, he’s going to want to know where Richard is, if they’ve found him, and having Richard right beside him will reassure him faster than anything else she could imagine.

Richard is tired; almost as soon as his head rests against Edward’s chest, his eyes are drooping. He lets out a few quiet sighs and tucks himself closer, his thumb drifting close to his mouth. Joan’s heart clenches. He used to suck his thumb when he was upset.

Still, he drifts off to sleep before too long and his thumb remains free of his mouth. She waits for his sleep to deepen before she moves to stroke his hair, the wild riot of golden curls, and turns her gaze to Edward, body still lax in sleep. He seems so different from how she remembers him, his body gaunt, his hair lost its lustre. He is caught in one of the ruts in his illness, where he is too tired even to rise to eat or relieve himself. He is so far from the energetic man she wed.

It is hard. He never recovers. Sometimes he regains some strength, tries to fulfil his duties or else just enjoy life, but soon it is too taxing and he must lie in bed as if it is his tomb already. One day, he will not manage to haul himself out of these ruts and will slip away from her.

She lays her hand over his, squeezes it. There is no response – his sleep is too deep for her to disturb. She lets his hand go and reaches up to brush his hair back from his face, to lay her hand against his warm cheek. Once, she thinks, they had been happy and perfect. Edward had been full of vigour and health, their son, little Ned, had been a bright, peaceful child and Richard had followed him around, content in his place. All that has been lost.

There is nothing she can do. The doctors have given up on their soberly delivered verdicts and talk platitudes now. There is no new hope and talk now drifts to things like _comfort _and _making things easier. _She has spent days raging at God, at doctors and priests, and now every hope is exhausted. All she can do is wait and cope with each day as it comes.

But, she supposes, Richard is a small child. He does not understand things like _no hope. _Is it any wonder he believed Henry’s mad idea and sought to affect his own cure?

Joan sits back in her chair and lays a hand over Richard’s good ankle to reassure herself that he has been found, that he is with them again. She settles in to wait for one, or both, of them to wake.

Edward is the first. He rouses when the hours begin to darken towards evening and the world outside the window sinks in sunset hues; purples, pinks and golds. She stands and tangles their fingers together, resting his hand against Richard’s curls. Edward’s eyes blink wildly, his mouth opening before he looks down, a smile curving over his face as he sees their son, returned safely.

*

Richard feels Edward’s arm around him, the warmth of his chest beneath his cheek. It’s a warm night and even though he’s not under his father’s blankets, he’s sweating a little. But he’s safe and real and he doesn’t have to think too much. Edward says he doesn’t even have to move until the morning.

‘What happened?’ Edward asks him quietly.

Richard shrugs. He doesn’t want to tell and he thinks his father knows. Uncle John’s probably told them both what happened.

‘I won’t be upset.’

‘Don’t you know already?’

‘A little of it, yes.’ Edward’s hand moves up to stroke Richard’s hair, working out the knots. ‘But I think there are things you haven’t said.’

‘I just wanted you to get better,’ Richard whispers and then remembers that his mother said that he only made Edward worse by worrying him. He cringes and curls up tighter. ‘I thought you’d get better if I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I made you worse.’

‘Oh Dickon,’ Edward says, his arms tightening around Richard’s shoulders. ‘It’s alright, I promise. You don’t have to apologise.’

Richard thinks that’s not very fair but he’s glad, cuddling into his father. He bites his lip and begins to tell him everything. It’s not easy, he cries at some points, but Edward is patient and lets him talk, not getting impatient when he stutters over his words or forgets them. When he’s finished, Edward wraps him up in a hug and Richard is exhausted but he feels better. Lightened or maybe just real.

*

Henry kicks at the grass and sighs. He knows his father is going to come out and tell him his punishment soon. He’d lectured Henry until his voice was hoarse last night and then sent Henry to bed in disgust. Knowing Lancaster, that was only the beginning of it and Henry wishes he would just _tell _Henry what was going to happen now instead of making him wait.

Katherine isn’t any comfort either. She’s so terribly disappointed in him and says she had never thought him a cruel boy. He thinks her disappointment might even be worse than the wait for his punishment.

At least Richard has come back now. Henry doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad but guesses he’d be in worse trouble if Richard was still missing. He supposes running away in the first place is very brave. Henry wouldn’t dare, even though he’s thought about it before and it seemed to make everyone love Richard even more. Knowing Henry’s luck, he wouldn’t be missed and if he was, when he returned he’d probably be in for a flogging or worse.

Henry drops down on the grass and stares up at the sky, the blueness of it, the fierce heat of the sun. If he ran away, he wouldn’t dare come back.

A shadow falls across his face and he squints up. Richard. Henry sits up in a hurry and opens his mouth, then shuts it. He doesn’t want to apologise. He was only trying to help.

‘Come on,’ Richard says. ‘Papa wants to meet you.’

Henry swallows. He’s wanted to meet Uncle Edward, more than anything, but after yesterday he doesn’t think it’s going to go well at all.

‘Is he angry?’

Richard is surprised, brows arching, and he shakes his head. ‘Angry? Why would he be?’

‘You know. Because of what I said. To you.’

Richard shrugs. ‘Well, he’s not. Come on.’

‘But—’

Richard blinks at him. ‘He says you’re not to be punished either and made Uncle John agree with him. Anyway, you said you wanted to meet him, _more than anything.’_

‘I do,’ Henry says.

‘Well, then, _come on,’ _Richard says, very regal and bossy and Henry scrabbles to his feet to follow Richard in.


End file.
